


Desiderium

by ShadowofOthers



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John never went into the military, M/M, Pre-Slash, Receptionist!Sherlock, office!AU, so he had a rough past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 11:06:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowofOthers/pseuds/ShadowofOthers
Summary: Desiderium: A feeling of desire or ardent longing for something lostJohn doesn't miss his life as a suicidal drunkard, but he certainly is longing for something more than his dull desk job. When he makes the decision to move back to London, the last thing he expects is to feel a longing for a different kind of excitement with the young receptionist.





	Desiderium

**Author's Note:**

> This is an adaptation of my old incomplete work, Life in Memo. It was supposed to be something different, but I suddenly got new inspiration- this is the result! I hope you enjoy reading it. 
> 
> This is [my tumblr](https://hannah-isshin.tumblr.com/#_=_), so come round and leave me a prompt or just chat! Also, this isn't beta'd or brit picked, so let me know if you are interested in helping me out!

“Alright everyone, I'd just like to take a moment out of our meeting to give a welcome to our new sales associate, John. He's a transfer from our Slough branch, so, you know, just show him around and how we do things here in London,” Anderson gave a large slap to John's back and sent him back to his seat. John felt the gaze of his new co-workers on his back as they murmured welcomes. John just gave a vague smile, and tried not to let the boredom show on his face.

This isn't exactly what he expected when he gave his hasty notice to his boss back in Slough. If he was being honest with himself, the only thing he had been thinking was _God, I've to get out of here._ Perhaps it was his sister's morning talk about his job and his sleeping on her couch (again) and his refusal to admit that he kept a gun in his gym bag. Perhaps it was the receptionist's eyes on him as he struggled to come to terms with his lessening attraction towards her and more towards her rough and crude fiancée. John imagined it was a combination of everything in that had him gasping for air in a town with absolutely _nothing_ going on. Nothing to keep his mind or body occupied and off the temptation of a stiff drink. He felt stifled, and when David called him into his office, offering him the head of sales position, instead of accepting, all he said was, “I'll have my notice on your desk by the end of the day.”

From then it was only waiting out the two weeks while they found a replacement (not that it would be difficult to find a willing person to fill a skill-less position) and ignoring his sister's constant questions.

“What brought this on? Why all of a sudden?” She had asked when he got home that same night with the news, cheeks still flushed with the excitement of something new finally happening in his life.

“Don't you want to be around your family? You know Hamish loves having you around.” This was asked in the second week after his outburst at the office, and gave him only a small pause. A three year old wasn't old enough to know him, and even if he was, he wouldn't love having a recovering alcoholic for an uncle living in his living room.

“John, where will you go?” This was asked while John was packing his belongings from around Harry's small house, Harry following closely behind and even going so far as to standing on his backpack strap until he gave her an answer of a shrug. John didn't have any idea of where he would go, but he would never admit to Harry that her questions were working. Where _would_ he go? He had no qualifications, having dropped out of uni after only one year. Two years after that he spent drinking on Harry's couch, which certainly didn't make the death of her wife any easier to take. When he finally got back on his feet, he found himself applying for a sales job, which is where he had been for the past six years. It was that thought that had him calling in a favour to his boss. By the end of the phone call, he had been in contact with head office, and officially transferred to the London branch.

His father would have called him a coward. He was always brutally honest, John Watson senior. His mother would have scolded his father before saying that it was the safe thing to do, and that it was a smart choice. Harry, well...she was probably right to be worried about his choices. And really, he should be grateful for her concern, but all he wanted was to get away from her.

 

* * *

 

 

After the meeting, John took his stuff and went to find his desk. Anderson, being head of HR, offered to show him around the office.

“Yeah, sure mate, thanks.” John replied, hiking his bag higher on his twinging shoulder, ignoring the look of pity that Anderson gave him, no doubt having been told by David his story.

Walking through the office wasn't any experience that was new to John. Back corner, accountants, other corner, quality control. Grey and carpeted and quiet, it looked the exact same as the Slough office, the only difference being the people. As they went through the office, Anderson started a sleazy narrative of all the women he had “stuffed”, and John could feel his disgust in this man grow in his throat. He'd met worse, though.

“Your desk, my good sir.” Anderson says with a forced flourish, gesturing to a space in the sales clump of desks, between two small women, neither of them looking up to greet the two men. Anderson's disposition changed as he approached the woman to John's right, who John noted straightened her back, as if waiting for a fight.

“Sally, hon, how was your weekend?” Anderson said, an oily tone overtaking his already displeasing voice.

“Anderson, _hon_ , how is your wife?” Sally shot back, her dark eyes not moving away from her work.

Anderson's white cheeks coloured, and the earlier bravado that he demonstrated with John disappeared the moment he started sputtering, “You-now, listen here-”

“Why don't you leave me be to settle in?” John interjected before Sally could defend herself, “You must have more important things to do?” he smile vaguely up at him, his only goal of getting that man as far from him as possible. John saw second woman smile at him gratefully.

“Yes...yes, of course I do,” Anderson replied, straightening his tie in a show of forced superiority, “Just go to reception to get your new price sheets,” And with that, the man turned on his heel and left.

“Ugh,” moaned Sally, “I make one drunken mistake and now he won't leave me alone! Granted, it was my first week, and I had no idea that he was married,” Sally's eyes cut to the other woman, who pouted playfully back.

“I know, but if you remember correctly, I did warn you away from him. He screwed my cousin last Christmas and never gave back her cardigan,” the brunette looked over to John with a warm smile and stretched out her hand, “Hi, I'm Molly, the only woman in the office who Anderson hasn't tried to sleep with.”

Sally stuck her hand out as well, “And I'm Sally, the one who fell for it. But I assure you, the moment I saw their wedding picture, I punched him in his naked balls and left.”

John shook both of their hands, but didn't offer his own name. After all, they had heard been at the meeting.

“Well, it's nice to meet you both. Can you point me in the direction of reception? I'd really like to get settled in...with my sales sheets...” John trailed off, realising that he was in the same boat that he was two weeks ago. _Oh God._

Closing his eyes to the onslaught of self deprecating thoughts, John felt his left eye muscle twitch in tandem with his shoulder muscle as he got up from his seat. 

Either truly not noticing, or pretending not to, Molly responded quickly,

“Oh! Yes, he's just past those double doors there,” she called, watching John's already retreating back with trepidation, “Oh boy, let's hope Sherlock called in today. John doesn't look like he'd appreciate a grilling at the moment,” she said softly to Sally, already anticipating the worst.

Sally, thinking the opposite, said, “No, actually he seems to be in the perfect mood for it. Maybe little Sherlock will get a nice bop,” she responded, all too gleeful at the thought.

“Oh Sally, he's just a kid,” Molly didn't try to hide her disapproval as she would for others, and Sally felt only a morsel of guilt. _Still, he's begging for one..._

John could only imagine what the woman were talking about as he passed through the glass doors to the lobby. He only hoped that he hadn't blundered his first impressions too badly, but John couldn't imagine pretending to be pleasant today.

“Hi, uh, could I get my sales sheets?” asked John when he reached the desk, looking down on a head full of dark curls. When the owner of the head looked up, John tried hard to ignore the magnitude of his pale eyes. Instead, John tried to wait for the boy's response without fidgeting under his gaze.

“You're the new guy,” the boy's face didn't change from the bored expression that he had before John had spoken.

“Well, yes. I mean, who else would I be?” John responded quickly, in a tone that he would probably be ashamed of at a different time. But right now, all he was, was annoyed. Annoyed at the day, annoyed by the sales sheets, annoyed by the bored kid in front of him that probably had much better things to do, while John had nothing waiting for him whatsoever.

The boys eyes flashed, not in anger at John's response, but seemingly in excitement at the idea of a respite from the monotony of the day.

“Well, _John,_ of course you are right. You could be no one but the new employee that was just transferred here, based on your cuffed trousers,” Now the boy's face was far from bored. In fact, John felt the weight of the icy blue eyes as he scanned his body intensely, as if reading a book, “Here are your sales sheets.”

He extended a pale hand towards John, and his binder within it. Just like the curves of his cheek ones, John could see that his wrists were delicate, not meant for heavy lifting. It looked like his fingers would hardly be able to pull a trigger.

“Oh, right,” John responded, not sure how to respond, forgetting his previous annoyance in the wake of such an odd response. He grabbed the binder, and turned back in the direction of his desk.

“No, sorry. What?” John couldn't just let that go.

The boy sighed, just a puff of air past his lips, “You cuffed the hem of your trousers, but the rest of your suit is tailored, so it's not due to an ill fit. Fashion? Doesn't seem likely based on the fact that your suit is at least 10 years old, and your haircut. Now, why else would you cuff them? Perhaps trying to hide the mud stains that you got on your walk in today. From the amount that you cuffed, you must have walked a long way. Although everyone that works here knows that our building is right next to the tube entrance, so you must have gotten lost.”

The boy hardly took a breath while he was explaining, and when he was done, his cheeks were a bit flushed. His eyes were wary, guarded, an expression that John was very familiar with. _Waiting for a fight._

But John was only amazed; he couldn't even imagine how the boy's brain must be working to pick up that information. And John was willing to bet that he could read much more than just that.

“What's your name?” John asked.

“Sherlock,” The boy responded, not yet relaxing his posture, still eyeing John in anticipation of his response.

Instead of saying anything, John just smiled and laughed, and continued on his way to his desk.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed and soon enough the rest of the office started to rustle in their packing up.

 _“_ Good first day?” Molly asked as she glanced at the clock that read 5 o'clock. Sally paused in her own packing up to see John suck in a breath, as if gearing up for a rant. But instead;

“Yeah, good thanks,” John said with a more genuine smile than they had seen yet, before turning back to his work, “See you both tomorrow.”

Exchanging looks with each other, the two women mutually decided to leave well enough alone, and left John with his thoughts.

The next time John checked the clock, it was an hour later, and the sun had completely fallen past the horizon and the office was gathering shadows. John couldn't see anyone around and so the shadows were making him jumpy- not acting as a security blanket as they once had. The towering pile of leads that he'd been working on were now all logged into his personal clientele sheets, and his desk was sharply organized the way that he liked it. Not wanting to go ,back to his empty flat (Harry was right about the loneliness, he'd give her that), he sluggishly started to pack his bag. As John made his way to the reception area, he mindlessly wondered if Sherlock was still there.

His question was answered when he heard the low rumblings of Sherlock's voice accompanying another's.

“Sherlock, I told you not to ignore my calls,” said a deliberate and distinguished sounding voice, the type that John still had a hard time not automatically resenting, “You have two more days to get me what I want,” The voice continued, taking on a tone of authority.

If the tone didn't jog John's memories of his sordid youth on the streets, although he was familiar with a darker edge twinging the ever present authority, then the words were sure to do it. John had heard those exact same words many times in his past, enough times to know that it usually makes for an unpleasant situation.

Not wanting to seem like he was eavesdropping, John moved faster towards the two men, who he still couldn't see. As he passed through the double doors to the reception desk, heard Sherlock heave a sign.

“I told you, I'm done doing your dirty work. I don't want to be involved any more,” These, too, were words that John recognized, being nearly identical to what he said to Jimmy the local drug lord that he ran for five years prior. That was probably why he decided to saddle up next to Sherlock, who's wrist was caught up in the other man's hand.

He was the same height as Sherlock, which John could now see was _fairly_ tall. His tweed suit matched his voice perfectly; posh and important-seeming, but really, John knew nothing about the world of bespoke suits. However, that wasn't the first thing that John noticed. The first thing he noticed was the sharpness of his brown eyes as they cut to John's, and that they nearly made John falter in his steps. His mouth was curled up in a minute smile that John couldn't tell was genuine or not, which was unnerving to him as he considered himself good at reading people.

Instead he reached Sherlock's elbow, and continued to lock eyes with the other man.

“Alright?” he asked the two men, keeping his face neutral.

The other man immediately raised both eyebrows, as if in surprise, even though the rest of his face remained falsely pleasant. Mocking.

“What's this?” He said this while addressing Sherlock, even though he didn't move his eyes away from John, scanning his person in a way that John couldn't place, “How interesting.”

Sherlock's expression didn't give away that he was thinking the exact same thing. _How interesting..._ Instead of voicing aloud his own confusion at the thought of having someone, especially someone as _normal_ seeming as John, a near stranger come to his defence, he said, “Well, as interested as I am in this a half testosterone, half dramatic-flare induced stare off going in front of me, I think I'll just take my leave.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and started his long strides towards the door, “John,” is thrown over his shoulder, which John took as an invitation to follow. Which he did, after one more look at the still-mysterious man.

They spent the elevator ride in silence. John, for one, felt a bit embarrassed. He knew nothing about the man, other than his immense cleverness, and John had no right butting into his business. He knew better than anyone what his interference could have resulted in. But John hadn't even considered leaving the situation alone.

Sensing his train of thought, as John already suspected Sherlock did often, he spoke up as they reached the frosty outside air.

“No need to worry, although I'm thankful that you did.” Sherlock did seem genuine, if not a bit embarrassed himself. He looked to John for the first time since it happened, “He's my brother,” He continued, huffing out a breath that was more self deprecating than Sherlock intended.

The moment the words came out of Sherlock's mouth, John felt an unusual relief, as well as even more embarrassment.

“Oh,” Was all he said.

They continued in silence once more, and John started to question what was going on. Why was he following this beautiful man? He tried to reason with himself, saying that he was there for protection. After all, Sherlock's delicate, bird bone looking body didn't look equipped for what might come out during the night. _But_ , he argued with himself, _I know nothing about this man_. Sherlock could be a Soviet spy for all John knew, capable of more than his appearance let on. He spent the last five years of his life avoiding excitement, which John was sure was a main component of Sherlock. Although that was true, he couldn't bear going back to the life he left behind in Slough: dull, lifeless...empty.

Maybe Sherlock could be the right kind of excitement for him, and it was that thought that made him blurt out,

“Do you want to go get a coffee?”

Sherlock's face turned to shock which bled into his tone, “Yes.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're still reading, leave me a comment telling me your favorite word and it's meaning (I live for that crap).


End file.
